The Struggles of Brown, Jones, and Robinson

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XXI.

  MR. BROWN IS TAKEN ILL.

  Brisket kept his word, and never entered Magenta House again, nor,as far as George Robinson is aware, has he seen any of the Brownfamily from that day on which he gave up his intended marriage tothis present. For awhile Maryanne Brown protested that she was wellsatisfied that this should be so. She declared to Mrs. Poppinsthat the man was mercenary, senseless, uninteresting, heavy, andbrutal;--and though in the bosom of her own family she did not speakout with equal freedom, yet from time to time she dropped wordsto show that she was not breaking her heart for William Brisket.But this mood did not last long. Before winter had come round thebitterness of gall had risen within her heart, and when Christmas wasthere her frame of mind was comfortable neither to herself nor to herunfortunate father.

  During this time the house still went on. Set a business going, andit is astonishing how long it will continue to move by the force ofmere daily routine. People flocked in for shirts and stockings, andyoung women came there to seek their gloves and ribbons, although butlittle was done to attract them, either in the way of advertisementor of excellence of supply. Throughout this wretched month or twoRobinson knew that failure was inevitable, and with this knowledge itwas almost impossible that he should actively engage himself in hisown peculiar branch of business. There was no confidence between thepartners. Jones was conscious of what was coming and was more eagerthan ever to feather his own nest. But in these days Mr. Browndisplayed a terrible activity. He was constantly in the shop, andthough it was evident to all eyes that care and sorrow were heapingupon his shoulders a burden which he could hardly bear, he watchedhis son-in-law with the eyes of an Argus. It was terrible to see him,and terrible, alas, to hear him;--for at this time he had no reservebefore the men and women engaged behind the counters. At first therehad been a pretence of great love and confidence, but this was nowall over. It was known to all the staff that Mr. Brown watched hisson-in-law, and known also that the youngest partner had been treatedwith injustice by them both.

  They in the shop, and even Jones himself, knew little of what inthese days was going on upstairs. But Robinson knew, for his roomwas close to that in which Mr. Brown and his daughter lived; and,moreover, in spite of the ill-feeling which could not but existbetween him and Miss Brown, he passed many hours in that room withher father. The bitterness of gall had now risen within her breast,and she had begun to realize that truth which must be so terrible fora woman, that she had fallen to the ground between two stools. It isa truth terrible to a woman. There is no position in a man's life ofthe same aspect. A man may fail in business, and feel that no furtherchance of any real success can ever come in his way; or he may failin love, and in the soreness of his heart may know that the pleasantrippling waters of that fountain are for him dried for ever. But witha woman the two things are joined together. Her battle must be foughtall in one. Her success in life and her romance must go together,hand in hand. She is called upon to marry for love, and if she marrynot for love, she disobeys the ordinance of nature and must pay thepenalty. But at the same time all her material fortune depends uponthe nature of that love. An industrious man may marry a silly fretfulwoman, and may be triumphant in his counting-house though he bebankrupt in his drawing-room. But a woman has but the one chance.She must choose her life's companion because she loves him; but sheknows how great is the ruin of loving one who cannot win for her thatworldly success which all in the world desire to win.

  With Maryanne Brown these considerations had become frightfullymomentous. She had in her way felt the desire for some romance inlife, but she had felt more strongly still how needful it was thatshe should attain by her feminine charms a position which would puther above want. "As long as I have a morsel, you shall have half ofit," her father had said to her more than once. And she had answeredhim with terrible harshness, "But what am I to do when you have nolonger a morsel to share with me? When you are ruined, or dead, wheremust I then look for support and shelter?" The words were harsh, andshe was a very Regan to utter them. But, nevertheless, they werenatural. It was manifest enough that her father would not providefor her, and for her there was nothing but Eve's lot of finding anAdam who would dig for her support. She was hard, coarse,--almostheartless; but it may perhaps be urged in her favour, that she wasnot wilfully dishonest. She had been promised to one man, and thoughshe did not love him she would have married him, intending to do herduty. But to this he would not consent, except under certain moneycircumstances which she could not command. Then she learned to loveanother man, and him she would have married; but prudence told herthat she should not do so until he had a home in which to place her.And thus she fell to the ground between two stools, and, falling,perceived that there was nothing before her on which her eye couldrest with satisfaction.

  There are women, very many women, who could bear this, if withsadness, still without bitterness. It is a lot which many women haveto bear; but Maryanne Brown was one within whose bosom all feelingswere turned to gall by the prospect of such a destiny. What had shedone to deserve such degradation and misfortune? She would have beenan honest wife to either husband! That it could be her own fault inany degree she did not for a moment admit. It was the fault of thosearound her, and she was not the woman to allow such a fault to passunavenged.

  "Father," she would say, "you will be in the workhouse before thisnew year is ended."

  "I hope not, my child."

  "Hope! What's the good of hoping? You will. And where am I to gothen? Mother left a handsome fortune behind her, and this is whatyou've brought us to."

  "I've done everything for the best, Maryanne."

  "Why didn't you give that man the money when you had it? You'd havehad a home then when you'd ruined yourself. Now you'll have no home;neither shall I."

  All this was very hard to be borne. "She nags at me that dreadful,George," he once said, as he sat in his old arm-chair, with his headhanging wearily on his chest, "that I don't know where I am or whatI'm doing. As for the workhouse, I almost wish I was there."

  She would go also to Poppins' lodgings, and there quarrel with herold friend Polly. It may be that at this time she did not receiveall the respect that had been paid to her some months back, and thisreverse was, to her proud spirit, unendurable. "Polly," she said, "ifyou wish to turn your back upon me, you can do so. But I won't put upwith your airs."

  "There's nobody turning their back upon you, only yourself,"Polly replied; "but it's frightful to hear the way you're alwaysa-grumbling;--as if other people hadn't had their ups and downsbesides you."

  Robinson also was taught by the manner of his friend Poppins that hecould not now expect to receive that high deference which was paidto him about the time that Johnson of Manchester had been in theascendant. Those had been the halcyon days of the firm, and Robinsonhad then been happy. Men at that time would point him out as hepassed, as one worthy of notice; his companions felt proud whenhe would join them; and they would hint to him, with a mysteriousreverence that was very gratifying, their assurance that he was sodeeply occupied as to make it impossible that he should give his timeto the ordinary slow courtesies of life. All this was over now, andhe felt that he was pulled down with rough hands from the high placewhich he had occupied.

  "It's all very well," Poppins would say to him, "but the fact is,you're a-doing of nothing."

  "If fourteen hours a day--" began Robinson. But Poppins instantlystopped him.

  "Fourteen hours' work a day is nothing, if you don't do anything. Aman may sweat hard digging holes and filling them up again. But whatI say is, he does not do any good. You've been making out all theselong stories about things that never existed, but what's the worldthe better for it;--that's what I want to know. When a man makesa pair of shoes--." And so he went on. Coming from such a man asPoppins, this was hard to be borne. But nevertheless Robinson didbear it. Men at the "Goose and Gridiron" also would shoulder himnow-a-days, rather than make way for him. Geese whose names had neverbeen heard bey
ond the walls of that room would presume to occupy hisplace. And on one occasion, when he rose to address the chamber, theGrand omitted the courtesy that had ever been paid to him, and forgotto lay down his pipe. This also he bore without flinching.

  It was about the middle of February when a catastrophe happened whichwas the immediate forerunner of the fall of the house. Robinson hadbeen at his desk early in the morning,--for, though his efforts werenow useless, he was always there; and had been struck with dismay bythe loudness of Maryanne's tone as she rebuked her father. Then Mrs.Jones had joined them, and the battle had raged still more furiously.The voice of the old man, too, was heard from time to time. Whenroused by suffering to anger he would forget to speak in his usualfalsetto treble, and break out in a few natural words of roughimpassioned wrath. At about ten, Mr. Brown came down into Robinson'sroom, and, seating himself on a low chair, remained there for awhilewithout moving, and almost without speaking. "Is she gone, George?"he asked at last. "Which of them?" said Robinson.

  "Sarah Jane. I'm not so used to her, and it's very bad." ThenRobinson looked out and said that Mrs. Jones was gone. Whereupon Mr.Brown returned to his own room.

  Again and again throughout the day Robinson heard the voices; buthe did not go up to the room. He never did go there now, unlessspecially called upon to do so by business. At about noon, however,there came a sudden silence,--a silence so sudden that he noticed it.And then he heard a quick step across the floor. It was nothing tohim, and he did not move from his seat; but still he kept his earsopen, and sat thoughtless of other matters, as though he expectedthat something was about to happen. The room above was perfectlystill, and for a minute or two nothing was done. But then there camethe fall of a quicker step across the room, and the door was opened,and Maryanne, descending the four stairs which led to his own closet,was with him in an instant. "George," she said, forgetting allpropriety of demeanour, "father's in a fit!"

  It is not necessary that the scene which followed should be describedwith minuteness in these pages. Robinson, of course, went up to Mr.Brown's room, and a doctor was soon there in attendance upon the sickman. He had been struck by paralysis, and thus for a time had beenput beyond the reach of his daughters' anger. Sarah Jane was verysoon there, but the wretched state in which the old man was lyingquieted even her tongue. She did not dare to carry on the combat asshe looked on the contorted features and motionless limbs of the poorwretch as he lay on his bed. On her mind came the conviction thatthis was partly her work, and that if she now spoke above her breath,those around her would accuse her of her cruelty. So she slunk aboutinto corners, whispering now and again with her husband, and quicklytook herself off, leaving the task of nursing the old man to thehigher courage of her sister.

  And Maryanne's courage sufficed for the work. Now that she had a taskbefore her she did it;--as she would have done her household taskshad she become the wife of Brisket or of Robinson. To the formershe would have been a good wife, for he would have required nosoftness. She would have been true to him, tending him and hischildren;--scolding them from morning to night, and laying notunfrequently a rough hand upon them. But for this Brisket would nothave cared. He would have been satisfied, and all would have beenwell. It is a thousand pities that, in that matter, Brisket could nothave seen his way.

  And now that her woman's services were really needed, she gave themto her father readily. It cannot be said that she was a cheerfulnurse. Had he been in a state in which cheerfulness would haverelieved him, her words would have again been sharp and pointed. Shewas silent and sullen, thinking always of the bad days that werecoming to her. But, nevertheless, she was attentive to him,--andduring the time of his terrible necessity even good to him. It is sonatural to women to be so, that I think even Regan would have nursedLear had Lear's body become impotent instead of his mind. There shesat close to his bed, and there from time to time Robinson wouldvisit her. In those days they always called each other George andMaryanne, and were courteous to each other, speaking solely of thepoor old sick man, who was so near to them both. Of their formerjoint hopes, no word was spoken then; nor, at any rate as regards thelady, was there even a thought of love. As to Jones, he very rarelycame there. He remained in the shop below; where the presence of somemember of the firm was very necessary, for, in these days, the numberof hands employed had become low.

  "I suppose it's all up down there," she said one day, and as shespoke she pointed towards the shop. At this time her father hadregained his consciousness, and had recovered partially the use ofhis limbs. But even yet he could not speak so as to be understood,and was absolutely helpless. The door of his bedroom was open, andRobinson was sitting in the front room, to which it opened.

  "I'm afraid so," said he. "There are creditors who are pressing us;and now that they have been frightened about Mr. Brown, we shall besold up."

  "You mean the advertising people?"

  "Yes; the stationer and printer, and one or two of the agents. Thefact is, that the money, which should have satisfied them, has beenfrittered away uselessly."

  "It's gone at any rate," said she. "He hasn't got it," and shepointed to her father.

  "Nor have I," said Robinson. "I came into it empty-handed, and Ishall go out as empty. No one shall say that I cared more for myselfthan for the firm. I've done my best, and we have failed. That'sall."

  "I am not going to blame you, George. My look-out is bad enough, butI will not say that you did it. It is worse for a woman than for aman. And what am I to do with him?" And again she pointed towardsthe inner room. In answer to this Robinson said something as tothe wind being tempered for the shorn lamb. "As far as I can see,"she continued, "the sheep is best off that knows how to keep itsown wool. It's always such cold comfort as that one gets, when theworld means to thrust one to the wall. It's only the sheep that letsthemselves be shorn. The lions and the tigers know how to keep theirown coats on their own backs. I believe the wind blows colder on poornaked wretches than it does on those as have their carriages to ridein. Providence is very good to them that know how to provide forthemselves."

  "You are young," said he, "and beautiful--"

  "Psha!"

  "You will always find a home if you require one."

  "Yes; and sell myself! I'll tell you what it is, George Robinson; Iwish to enter no man's home unless I can earn my meat there by mywork. No man shall tell me that I am eating his bread for nothing. Asfor love, I don't believe in it. It's all very well for them as havenothing to do and nothing to think of,--for young ladies who get upat ten in the morning, and ride about with young gentlemen, and spendhalf their time before their looking-glasses. It's like those poetrybooks you're so fond of. But it's not meant for them as must earntheir bread by their own sweat. You talk about love, but it's onlymadness for the like of you."

  "I shall talk about it no more."

  "You can't afford it, George; nor yet can't I. What a man wants in awife is some one to see to his cooking and his clothes; and what awoman wants is a man who can put a house over her head. Of course, ifshe have something of her own, she'll have so much the better house.As for me, I've got nothing now."

  "That would have made no difference with me." Robinson knew that hewas wrong to say this, but he could not help it. He knew that hewould be a madman if he again gave way to any feeling of tendernessfor this girl, who could be so hard in her manner, so harsh in herspeech, and whose temperament was so utterly unsuited to his own. Butas she was hard and harsh, so was he in all respects the reverse. Asshe had told him over and over again, he was tender-hearted even tosoftness.

  "No; it wouldn't," she replied. "And, therefore, with all yourcleverness, you are little better than a fool. You have been workinghard and living poor these two years back, and what better are you?When that old man was weak enough to give you the last of his money,you didn't keep a penny."

  "Not a penny," said Robinson, with some feeling of pride at hisheart.

  "And what the better are you for that? Look at them Joneses; the
yhave got money. When the crash comes, they won't have to walk outinto the street. They'll start somewhere in a little way, and will dovery well."

  "And would you have had me become a thief?"

  "A thief! You needn't have been a thief. You needn't have taken itout of the drawers as some of them did. I couldn't do that myself.I've been sore tempted, but I could never bring myself to that." Thenshe got up, and went to her father, and Robinson returned again tothe figures that were before him.

  "What am I to do with him?" she again said, when she returned. "Whenhe is able to move, and the house is taken away from us, what am I todo with him? He's been bad to me, but I won't leave him."

  "Neither will I leave him, Maryanne."

  "That's nonsense. You've got nothing, no more than he has; and he'snot your flesh and blood. Where would you have been now, if we'd beenmarried on that day."

  "I should have been nearer to him in blood, but not truer to him as apartner."

  "It's lucky for you that your sort of partnership needn't last forever. You've got your hands and your brain, and at any rate you canwork. But who can say what must become of us? Looking at it allthrough, George, I have been treated hard;--haven't I, now?"

  He could only say that of such hard treatment none of it rested onhis conscience. At such a moment as this he could not explain toher that had she herself been more willing to trust in others, moreprone to believe in Providence, less hard and worldly, things wouldhave been better with her. Even now, could she have relaxed intotenderness for half-an-hour, there was one at her elbow who wouldhave taken her at once, with all that burden of a worn-out pauperparent, and have poured into her lap all the earnings of his life.But Maryanne Brown could not relax into tenderness, nor would sheever deign to pretend that she could do so.

  The first day on which Mr. Brown was able to come out into thesitting-room was the very day on which Brown, Jones, and Robinsonwere declared bankrupts. Craddock and Giles, the stationers of St.Mary Axe, held bills of theirs, as to which they would not,--orprobably could not,--wait; and the City and West End Commercial andAgricultural Joint-Stock Bank refused to make any further advances.It was a sad day; but one, at least, of the partners felt relievedwhen the blow had absolutely fallen, and the management of theaffairs of the shop was taken out of the hands of the firm.

  "And will we be took to prison?" asked Mr. Brown. They were almostthe first articulate words which he had been heard to utter since thefit had fallen on him; and Robinson was quick to assure him that nosuch misfortune would befall him.

  "They are not at all bitter against us," said Robinson. "They know wehave done our best."

  "And what will they do with us?" again asked Mr. Brown.

  "We shall have a sale, and clear out everything, and pay adividend;--and then the world will be open to us for furtherefforts."

  "The world will never be open to me again," said Mr. Brown. "And ifI had only have kept the money when I had it--"

  "Mr. Brown," said Robinson, taking him by the hand, "you are illnow, and seen through the sickly hue of weakness and infirmity,affairs look bad and distressing; but ere long you will regain yourstrength."

  "No, George, I shall never do that."

  On this day the business of the shop still went on, but the proceedsof such sales as were made were carried to the credit of theassignees. Mr. Jones was there throughout the day, doing nothing, andhardly speaking to any one. He would walk slowly from the front ofthe shop to the back, and then returning would stand in the doorway,rubbing his hands one over the other. When any female of speciallysmart appearance entered the shop, he would hand to her a chair,and whisper a few words of oily courtesy; but to those behind thecounter he did not speak a word. In the afternoon Mrs. Jones made herappearance, and when she had been there a few minutes, was about toraise the counter door and go behind; but her husband took her almostroughly by the arm, and muttering something to her, caused her toleave the shop. "Ah, I knew what such dishonest doings must come to,"she said, as she went her way. "And, what's more, I know who's toblame." And yet it was she and her husband who had brought this ruinon the firm.

  "George," said Mr. Brown, that evening, "I have intended for thebest,--I have indeed."

  "Nobody blames you, sir."

  "You blame me about Maryanne."

  "No, by heaven; not now."

  "And she blames me about the money; but I've meant it for thebest;--I have indeed."

  All this occurred on a Saturday, and on that same evening Robinsonattended at his debating club, for the express purpose of explainingto the members the state of his own firm. "It shall never be thrownin my teeth," said he, "that I became a bankrupt and was ashamed toown it." So he got up and made a speech, in which he stated thatBrown, Jones, and Robinson had failed, but that he could not layit to his own charge that he had been guilty of any omission orcommission of which he had reason to be ashamed as a Britishmerchant. This is mentioned here, in order that a fitting record maybe made of the very high compliment which was paid to him on theoccasion by old Pancabinet.

  "Most worthy Grand," said old Pan, and as he spoke he looked first atthe chairman and then down the long table of the room, "I am sure Imay truly say that we have all of us heard the statement made by theenterprising and worthy Goose with sentiments of regret and pain; butI am equally sure that we have none of us heard it with any idea thateither dishonour or disgrace can attach itself in the matter to thename of--" (Order, order, order.) "Worthy Geese are a little tooquick," continued the veteran debater with a smile--"to the nameof--one whom we all so highly value." (Hear, hear, hear.) And thenold Pancabinet moved that the enterprising and worthy Goose wasentitled to the full confidence of the chamber. Crowdy magnanimouslyseconded the motion, and the resolution, when carried, wascommunicated to Robinson by the worthy Grand. Having thanked them ina few words, which were almost inaudible from his emotion, he leftthe chamber, and immediately afterwards the meeting was adjourned.